Vigilantes With Benefits
by keeponwarbling
Summary: These hookups are the best and worst things about their lives right now, but neither Barry nor Oliver can bring themselves to stop. [Previously 30 Days of Flarrow] [A series of interlinked chapters based on the 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge on tumblr]
1. Take Me Apart (Day 1 - Anal sex)

**WARNING FOR ANGSTY AS FUCK ENDING. This was inspired by the "Guys like us don't get the girl" talk that Oliver gave Barry in the Flash part of the Flarrow crossover – so, naturally, Oliver is still in that sort of mindset. So, you know – proceed with caution, and have some angsty as hell smut. (Although, keep in mind – this is from Barry's POV, so who knows what Oliver is thinking? You decide!)**

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 **Part 1 of the 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge: Anal sex**

 **Title: Take Me Apart**

Barry might be a little in love with Oliver Queen. Not that he will ever tell him that, of course.

They're not together – they're not even dating. As far as Oliver's concerned, this is just something they do sometimes in the name of friendly fun. They say it's to work out the tension and frustration of a mission gone wrong, to celebrate missions gone right, to distract from the destruction and loss that they've both suffered in this shitty fucked up world – any excuse, really.

"What are you thinking?" Oliver asks against his neck, a little breathless.

"Nothing-" Barry gasps from beneath him. The lie tastes sour on his tongue, but he can't bring himself to fuck this up. Oliver's hand strokes his inner thigh, and Barry bears his neck to the older man for him to get better access, to which Oliver takes full advantage of by running his tongue over his throat, causing Barry to stifle a soft whimper.

Oliver moves down, sucking on his collar bone, biting softly before Barry tugs on Oliver's hair, pulling him back up so that they're making eye contact.

"I-" Barry bites his lip nervously, and Oliver watches him patiently, waiting. "I've been thinking..."

"Well, that's worrying," Oliver teases, fond smile playing on his lips as he gazes at the boy below him.

At that, Barry snorts. "You're not as funny as you think you are."

Oliver makes an uncommitted humming noise, before returning his attention to Barry's neck, grinding his erection down on Barry's, Barry's breath juttering ever so slightly.

"I-" Barry inhales sharply as Oliver rocks into him, setting up a slow rhythm. "I want- nghh, I want you to fuck me."

Oliver stills above him, watching him carefully, bringing his palm up to his face, running his thumb over his cheekbone with a sigh. "Barry, we can't- we've talked about this."

"Why?" Barry asks, frustrated.

"I can't do that to you." Oliver replies, voice tight.

"I want this." Barry tells him, fixing Oliver with a determined expression. "I've wanted this for a while."

Oliver huffs, pressing his forehead against him, eyes trained intently on his own. "Are you sure, Barry? You've never-"

"No, I've never. I just- I want to. Can we?" Barry replies awkwardly, drawing a line up Oliver's back with his index finger, causing Oliver to shudder with delight.

It's not like Barry isn't scared - he just simply wants to feel all of the other man in ways that he hasn't before. He wants to be with him in every way he can. He wants Oliver to take all of the firsts he has left and be every one of his lasts.

His eyes flicker back to Oliver's, which are now wild with desire – fierce, determined, pupils blown – and it sends a shiver down Barry's spine, because he knows before Oliver replies what the answer is going to be.

"Do you- do you have-?" Oliver asks, unsure.

Wordlessly, Barry rolls Oliver over, straddling his waist as the other man lands flat on his back. "Yeah, I- just give me a minute."

He moves away, trying not to whine desperately at the loss of contact – god, he's pathetic. Thankfully, Oliver has no idea the effect that he has on Barry – how he turns him into a desperate, needy, hungry mess.

Although, it's not like Oliver looks unaffected – he's propped up on his elbows watching Barry impatiently, panting heavily as Barry reaches into the night stand, fumbling around before he finds what he's looking for, bringing it back to the bed and placing it beside Oliver.

Oliver pulls Barry back into him immediately, lips finding his own.

And this... this is different. They don't kiss often. Kissing is what couples do, not friends with benefits, or whatever they're calling themselves. Kissing is for lovers. He can count on the one hand the amount of times that Oliver has kissed him – and even then, it's never been like this.

It's usually quick, desperate, dirty, but this- this is none of those things. It's sweet, soft, sensual – Oliver runs his tongue against Barry's, mapping the inside of his mouth slowly, strokes his hand over Barry's back softly, and Barry feels himself flush all over.

It's funny, really. He's had the guy's dick in his mouth, yet he feels himself getting flustered by a simple kiss. Or maybe a not-so-simple kiss.

Oliver rolls them back over so that Barry is once again below him, watching him with intent, still taking Barry apart with his lips. He runs his strong hands over Barry's wrists, pinning them to the mattress gently.

It's then that Oliver talks, voice sounding a little lower than usual, all gruff with lust and desire. "How do you want to do this?"

Barry swallows. "I want to see you," he whispers, a little scared that Oliver might see through the charade – see deep down into his soul, dig out his feelings for Oliver, and leave him. But Oliver just nods, placing another soft peck to Barry's lips, before reaching for one of the spare pillows. Barry cants his hips, allowing him to place the pillow underneath him.

"If anything, and I mean _anything,_ hurts- you tell me. If you need me to stop, or you change your mind, tell me. Are we clear?"

Barry nods, because he can't quite work up the willpower to speak out loud. All he can think is that _this is happening, it's really happening_.

He watches as Oliver slicks up his finger and Barry licks his lips hungrily, impatient to feel the other man inside him. Of course, he's researched this- he knows that there is a certain amount of prep involved, but god- he just really, really wants Oliver to take him already.

Still, Oliver approaches him slowly, crawling between Barry's spread legs, propping them over his shoulders before Barry feels the tip of the older man's finger at his hole, the liquid cold against his skin, and Barry's eyes flutter shut in anticipation.

Oliver pushes one finger in slowly, and it's like nothing that Barry's ever felt before. Of course, he's felt his own fingers in moments of curious exploration of his own body, but this- this is nothing like that. It burns a little, but it's not necessarily painful.

"Are you okay?" Oliver asks, and Barry's eyes open to glance at him again.

"I'm fine, just- just give me a second. It feels... weird."

"Bad weird or good weird?"

"Just- just weird," Barry chokes, but he's starting to adjust, and he can feel the muscles in his ring loosen a little. "Okay- you can- yeah. You can move now."

With that, Oliver begins to open him up, attention entirely focused on Barry's facial features – asking Barry's permission each time he adds a finger, stretching him with careful consideration. At first it's a little sore, but eventually the pain gives way to pleasure, and Barry lets out a small sob of elation as Oliver's finger brushes with his prostate, sending his sensations into overdrive. Soon Oliver has worked himself up to three fingers, and Barry is keening desperately below him.

"I'm- I'm ready," Barry pants.

"Are you sure?" Oliver asks, he's still watching him, face full of concentration and lust. "I don't want to hurt you, Barry."

"Please, Oliver," Barry whines, begging Oliver with his eyes. "I need you. I can't- I need to feel you. Please."

He's a mess. He's squirming now, panting frantically, and he really fucking needs to feel Oliver inside him – he doesn't even care that he's maybe letting out a little too much emotion, but if Oliver has noticed, he says nothing – just nods, making a shaky grasp for the condom, fumbling as he rolls it onto himself then slicks himself up. Barry licks his lips at the sight.

Then, Oliver's on him again, lining himself up, and oh, it's almost too much. They're both breathing heavily, staring one another down wantonly, Barry gripping onto the back of Oliver's shoulders. Then suddenly Oliver is breaching him, and Barry hisses, his nails digging into Oliver's skin a little at the burn.

It seems like it goes on forever to Barry, but once he's buried up to the hilt, both men close their eyes, gathering themselves for a moment. It's not as bad as he expected – a little sore - that was a given - but his muscles have been worked over already, and it doesn't take Barry long to adjust to the feeling.

"Move," Barry groans into Oliver's ear, and that's all the encouragement the older man needs. He starts off slow, rocking into Barry with a gentle ease that feels far too much like lovemaking than fucking, as far as Barry's concerned.

He clenches around Oliver's dick, and the other man bucks up, letting out a loud growl as he grasps onto Barry's hips tight, and then he begins to speed up, and all Barry can do is grip onto his hair, ride the wave of pleasure as Oliver pounds into him, hard and fast, muttering filthy, sinful and delicious things into Barry's ear that makes him flush a deep red.

"Touch yourself for me, baby," Oliver grunts breathlessly, and how could Barry refuse him?

He moves his hand down to his neglected dick, and mewls at the first touch, the stimulation almost too much. Nevertheless, he strokes himself, working himself up as Oliver sucks down on his neck possessively, claiming him, taking him apart piece by piece – and it might not be the other man's intention, but in that moment, Barry is completely and utterly his.

"Oliver- I'm- I-" Barry chokes out, panting heavily.

"It's okay, Barry. It's okay, I've got you."

At that, he hits his peak, back arching as he lets out a howl, stars forming before his eyes as he tenses all over, spilling into his hand, painting his chest with white as Oliver lets out a long, drawn out moan, following him over the edge.

They both lie there for a moment, their skin slick and salty with sweat and other fluids. Oliver is panting above him, and Barry closes his eyes, letting himself get lost in the moment. For a few minutes, there's no villains, no heartbreak, no obligations – it's just them, together and complete.

To his surprise, Oliver brings their lips together again, caressing him with a deep, passionate kiss, and Barry is a little ashamed of the small whimper that he makes when they finally part, Oliver drawing himself from Barry's heat.

Then, suddenly – the spell is broken, and Oliver is lying beside him, flat on his back. He knows that it won't take him long to gather himself – to pull his suit on, and leave Barry cold and alone. This is how it always goes, and Barry just feels cheap and used by the end of the night, but he really can't help the sharp stab he feels as the bed creaks, and he can't even bring himself to look as he hears the ruffling of clothes, and the sound of zips. He doesn't even say goodbye as Oliver's footsteps fade away, the door closing with a sharp _thud_ behind him.

They won't talk about it. They never do. But no matter what they do, it'll happen again. They'll team up – fight whatever villain is terrorising the city that week, and then they'll find themselves in bed together at the end of the night. It'll be perfect for a while, and then Oliver will leave him, taking another piece of Barry with him each time.


	2. In The Act (Day 2 - Awkward sex)

**Turns out, I've decided to turn this into a multichapter following the prompts. So, yeah. This'll be fun. Enjoy!**

 **Part 2 of the 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge: Awkward sex / things that don't go as planned**

 **Title: In The Act**

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Really, they should have thought it through a little more before they decided to fuck around in the club bathroom.

They'd just finished their victory round – Oliver's treat this time, he'd insisted – when Barry made his way to the toilet, followed pretty closely by Oliver. Now, though, they're trapped inside one of the cubicles, waiting for Cisco and Digg to get the fuck out of there so that they can emerge without being caught.

Thing is, Oliver had been getting a little carried away, panting breathlessly on top of the closed over toilet seat, his hands planted around Barry's waist as Barry rode his cock with enthusiasm, his skin flushed all over, and now – well, they're a little scared to move at the risk of being caught, and he's still buried inside Barry, and... well, let's just say that it's doing things to him that he's not proud of.

Barry doesn't look entirely unaffected either, to be fair. His face is buried in Oliver's neck, his legs still wrapped around the older vigilante and he's gritting his teeth, eyes clenched shut in frustration.

 _Shit, this was a really bad idea_.

"I mean, where the hell are they? Have you noticed that this happens a lot? We go out, have a few drinks, then they both disappear."

He hears Digg snort. "Oliver's not much with the socialising, man. He probably went home."

Cisco lets out a hum. "You're probably right. Barry must have left, too. I don't know why he wouldn't say anything, though. It's not like him at all."

Seriously, who the hell stands in the men's toilet and has a conversation? Can't they talk out in the fucking bar? It's not like they're discussing anything that Caitlin and Felicity can't join in on.

His leg is cramping, so he shifts a little. The movement evokes a soft whimper from Barry, though, and Oliver's breath catches in his throat, gripping onto the younger man's thighs a little tighter.

"What was that?" Cisco asks, and Oliver squeezes his eyes tight.

"I didn't hear anything. Come on, let's go back, they'll be wondering where we are."

The door squeals, and he hears one set of footsteps shuffle off into the distance, but he realises with a pang that the other one has remained firmly in place.

He hears Digg clear his throat. "Just so you both know, I seriously don't give a fuck what you get up to in your spare time, but you really need to learn some self-restraint."

Barry flinches, and Oliver squeezes the bridge of his nose, because of _course_ Digg had already worked it out, but he doesn't wait for a reply, and the door slams shut behind him.

"I, uhm-" Barry says, somewhat awkwardly. "I think he's onto us."

Oliver grunts in reply, but god fucking dammit, he's already buried inside Barry, and he's still rock solid, and Diggle knows anyway, so he just clamps down on Barry's neck with his lips, who lets out a loud groan in reply, before shifting himself so that he's in a comfortable enough position to slam himself down on Oliver's cock.

Their breathing roughens, and he's pretty sure Barry's chanting his name but he can't be one hundred percent certain due to the pounding in his ears and the haziness overtaking him. He hears Barry choke out a sob as Oliver runs his hands over his back, clawing gently, feeling the slick slide of sweat against the calluses on his fingertips.

Before he knows it, the fluttering warmth pooling in his stomach erupts in a burning heat, and Barry quivers on top of him, his hand tugging on his own cock now, which spills onto Oliver's stomach as he reaches his peak. This causes Barry to clench around him, and Oliver can't help the loud gasp that escapes him. His toes curl, his back arches, and he spills into Barry with a desperate sob, hands fisted tightly into his hair as Barry grips his waist.

They're left panting, waiting for their breathing to even out, and Barry's lips dip into a frown, his brows furrowed, and Oliver can't ask what's wrong. No, he won't. Because he already knows.

Look, he's not an idiot. He knows how Barry feels about him, and he knows how he feels about Barry, and, well, he also knows that they shouldn't be doing this. That every time they hook up, the feelings escalate, and they have to tear away from one another. It's a blow to his gut every god damned time.

But it's necessary. He's not good enough for Barry. He knows this. Barry deserves better. But he also can't resist him, and that's... well, that's his fault.

And that's another reason why Oliver's an asshole.

When they finally tear themselves away from one another, Oliver ignores the pang in his chest, and the heartbroken look in Barry's eyes, and instead focuses on making sure that he's presentable. Barry doesn't look at him as he gets dressed, just leaves without a word, and when he goes back out into the bar, the younger man is nowhere to be seen.

He ducks away, resigning himself to face Diggle's grilling the next time he sees him. He really doesn't feel like celebrating anymore.


	3. Another Stolen Moment (Day 3 - Fluids)

**Part 3 of the 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge: Body fluids**

 **Title: Another Stolen Moment**

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Their stolen moments are few and far between, but fuck if they're not the best few moments of Oliver's otherwise messy, fucked up life.

Barry is on his knees before him, lips wrapped around his dick. His fingertips graze over Oliver's thigh, causing small tingling bursts of pleasure to break out on his skin. As he takes him down deeper, the wet heat tightening around him, Barry curls his free hand around his own cock, and he lets out a guttural groan as he begins to stroke himself. The vibrations in Barry's throat does wondrous things to Oliver's dick, and with a short gasp followed by ragged breath, Oliver threads his fingers through Barry's hair, setting up a firm grip.

Green eyes flicker up to meet his own, and Barry smirks around his dick, clearly proud of the effect that his attentions are having on Oliver. His tongue presses along the underside of his shaft, and Oliver runs his own tongue over his lips as he takes in the delicious sight.

At Barry's signal, he moves with care, gently thrusting into Barry's mouth with short pants, and Barry devours him hungrily with swollen lips, moving the hand that isn't working on his own dick to firmly meet Oliver's base, and his cheeks hollow so that Oliver is fully enveloped in heat from base to tip.

Breath quickening, Oliver rolls his head back, sounding out a loud groan as he sets a steady pace, fucking into the wet heat, but taking extra care not to thrust too hard or deep. He's flushed, trembling and sensitive all over, to the point where he can feel the smallest bead of sweat trail over the back of his thigh.

Soon enough, the controlled thrusts slip into something more carnal in a haze of wetness and warmth, and the beautiful strangled moans coming from Barry's throat. He speeds up a little, still watching Barry carefully for any signs of distress, but if anything, Barry takes it in his stride, his strokes on his own shaft becoming rougher, less disciplined, more erratic.

He can feel it building – his breathing rough and broken, his body trembling, simultaneously singing with pleasure and crying out for release.

With every ounce of control he has left, Oliver stops with a whimper, pulling himself out of the warmth altogether, and Barry gazes up at him in perplexity. Rather than offer any kind of vocal explanation, though, he just unthreads one of his hands from Barry's hair, still maintaining a firm grip with the other so that Barry doesn't think he's finished with him. His free hand reaches his dick, and he begins to pump the shaft roughly, still slick with Barry's saliva. Realisation dawn on Barry's face, and a mewl escapes him as Oliver stands over him, working himself to completion, their eyes locked together.

It's perhaps the most intimate thing they've done so far. There's just something about the unspoken understanding between them – the prolonged eye contact, the trust in Barry's eyes as he gazes up at him, the lack of need for verbalisation in order for them to understand exactly what Oliver wants. They move together seamlessly, and the sheer velocity of it should frighten Oliver to his core, but it just adds fuel to the flame of desire that resonates through his bones whenever he's in Barry's presence.

A choked sob escapes Oliver, and he's entirely too lost to let out any form of coherent warning before he's enveloped in a bright, startling light, and the fire pooling in his gut explodes. He keeps his eyes firmly fixed on Barry as his release trickles over his face, speckled drops landing on one of his cheeks and over his jaw, on his lower lip – painting him, claiming him as his own, and he hears Barry cry out from below him before he's spilling into his own hand.

His chest thuds, his fingers tremble in Barry's hair, and he lets out a slow, shaky breath as he gazes down at him. To see the other man marked in such a manner, Oliver can't help the flare of possessiveness that runs through him. Without much thought, he trails his finger over Barry's cheek, examining the liquid. It's thick, warm and slimy on his fingertips, and Barry smirks up at him, and in a swift movement, takes Oliver's coated fingers into his mouth, tongue swirling around the flesh, lapping up the release, and _holy fuck_ , that shouldn't be as hot as it is, but Oliver's throat constricts none-the-less.

Still on his knees, Barry's gazing up at him with such reverence – such passion, such adoration, such affection, and Oliver's chest fills with warmth. There's no other word for it – Barry is absolutely beautiful, and Oliver's affection for him resonates through every fibre of his being.

He longs to just let go – to submit to his feelings for the other man, to whisk him away, carve out their own corner of the world away from all this madness, where there are no secret identities, no life threatening targets on their backs, nothing holding them back from being together in every way possible.

They could be so happy together. Maybe, in that life, they would get married – adopt a few kids to call their own. He'd be proud to call Barry his husband, and he would no doubt be envied by many.

It's a pipe dream, Oliver knows. This city needs him, as Central City needs The Flash, and Oliver cannot be _The Arrow_ and allow himself to open his heart in such a manner. Barry is already his weakness. He can't allow his feelings to grow stronger, although at this point he wonders if that's even possible. He can't allow even the remotest chance that someone would catch onto his weakness, and hurt Barry in order to exploit it.

It's a chance that Oliver is not willing to take, no matter how tempting.

He also knows that he's not good enough for Barry. Oliver corrupts him with every touch. He's poison, working his way from the inside out, and he knows that he can't measure up to Barry in any way. Barry is the beauty of a bright summers day, and Oliver is as cold and dark as the harshest winter. They just cannot be.

With a sinking feeling, Oliver pries himself away, attempting to swallow the thick lump in his throat. Barry's eyes trail to the ground, and _there it is again_ – that look. The one that tells him that Barry has no idea what Oliver feels for him – that Barry thinks that these encounters mean nothing to him. He looks broken, defeated, and he's shaking slightly, although it's obvious that he's trying to keep Oliver from seeing just how badly he's affected.

He tears his eyes away, before moving into Barry's en-suite bathroom to clean himself up with his heart in his throat. On his way out, he hears Barry shuffle his feet on the carpet with a quiet sniffle – gathering his clothes together, and he doesn't dare to look as they pass one another when Barry makes his way into the bathroom to clean himself up.

He hears the shower start, and Oliver lets out a shaky sigh. He craves Barry in a way that he's never had him before – he craves to wrap his arms around him, to caress Barry's lips with his own, to taste him on his tongue, to map out his mouth in a gentle, sweet caress.

Suddenly, his insides run cold, and his heart plummets in his chest, because it's then and there that he realises it. He's truly, madly, irrevocably in love with Barry Allen, and there's nothing that he can do to make it stop. The worst part is that part of him – the selfish part of him – wants to hold onto that love, and to explore it for all it's worth.

But he can't.

With a heavy heart, he forces his feet to move below him. He reaches for the door, and his fingers tighten around the knob. He hears a choked sob from the bathroom, and he lets out a shuddered breath.

This needs to stop. He can't keep doing this to Barry – to himself. Barry doesn't deserve this – he's too good, too pure, and Oliver is _hurting_ him – darkening the light inside him.

If he truly loves Barry, he needs to let him go.

Harnessing every ounce of willpower he has left, he twists the knob, and the door opens with a _click_. It takes every effort not to close it and return to Barry – to fold him into his arms and let him know exactly how loved he is. Instead, he takes his leave, filled with regret and longing.


	4. All Tied Up (Day 4 - Bondage)

**Part 4 of the 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge: Bondage**

 **Title: All Tied Up**

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He had meant to stay away. He really had. But of _course_ he couldn't ignore Barry's call for help with a mission.

Of _course_ he couldn't refuse the offer for a drink afterwards – despite the fact that Digg kept giving him the stink eye throughout the evening, as both Oliver Barry nervously avoided the man's knowing gaze.

And... yeah, okay. He probably should have left it at that. Gone home with everyone else. But Barry had made a point to sit beside him in the cosy booth that they'd procured for the group – their thighs rubbing together throughout the night, his fingers trailing up and down Oliver's inner thigh, sending bursts of arousal shooting through his body, a sly smirk on the younger's face that promised a night of delightfully sinful pleasure.

So _of course_ one thing had led to another – he should have known better than to think he could have avoided it, to be honest.

They're in Barry's bedroom _again_ , Oliver's back flat on the mattress, and Barry perched over him, their erections brushing together through the thin material of their pants as Barry places open-mouthed kisses over the curve of Oliver's neck.

"I have an idea," Barry murmurs into his skin, and that causes a rush of adrenaline to course through Oliver's system, because when Barry has an idea, it usually involves taking their... thing... to another level, and in the heat of the moment, Oliver is always inclined to say _yes_.

He moves his hands so that they're rested on the curve of Barry's hips where his shirt has ridden up ever-so-slightly, trailing his fingertips over the exposed skin, and Barry lets out a slight hiss.

"Always a worrying sentence, Barry," Oliver manages with a groan as Barry presses down a little harder on his groin.

Barry smirks in reply, dragging his teeth over the flesh of his neck, before sitting upright, splaying his hands over Oliver's chest to balance himself. "I, uhm- I got something."

Oliver raises an eyebrow, but before he can ask, Barry scrambles off him, and Oliver whines slightly as the pressure leaves his dick. It's not for long, though – he turns to see Barry rifling through his night stand, pulling out several items with a triumphant hum, and quickly clamouring back over him, a smug grin curling on his lips.

His eyes dart to Barry's hands, and they widen when they land on the contents.

Okay – condoms, lube – nothing new there, but it's the third item that makes his throat constrict – makes his mouth run dry, his heart thunder in his chest, and Barry watches him carefully, trying to gauge his reaction.

"You... you want me to tie you up?"

Barry flushes, biting his lip between his teeth, but Oliver continues to stare at he rope with curiosity and wonder. "I mean, you don't have to," Barry says, and there's a slightly nervous tremble to his voice. "But I- I just- I'd like to, if you, you know, wanted to try it."

He can't quite work out how to give his permission verbally – he seems to have forgotten how to use his words entirely, if he's honest with himself, so he does the best with what he _can_ do. Oliver pulls himself up, so that he's sitting upright, Barry still straddling his lap, and he threads his fingers through the younger's hair, bringing their mouths together hungrily.

He tries to avoid this – kissing. Which is weird, he knows. After all, he and Barry have done far more intimate things through the course of their _arrangement_.

Sex, though – sex can be fun. Sex can be without attachments – without any form of promise towards the other person.

Kissing, on the other hand, goes hand-in-hand with _feelings_ and _promises of more,_ as far as Oliver's concerned – which he knows is a pretty fucked up logic, because one night stands kiss all the time, but he rarely does this with Barry. Kissing a one night stand is one thing – but kissing a guy who has become your close friend and began to mean so much more to you than just a meaningless hook-up? Well, that's something different entirely.

He pries the rope gently from Barry's hand, along with the lube and the condoms, and slides them under the pillow behind him for convenience, because he needs to do _this_ first – needs to feel Barry's tongue stroking against his own, lips colliding softly against one another, dragging soft breathless pants from Barry's mouth.

They take their time exploring each other's mouths, shedding their clothes slowly, and it's painfully intimate in a way that it's never been before – in a way that he always told himself that he wouldn't allow. When they're naked, Barry is rolled onto his back, and Oliver stretches over him, letting out a groan at the sensation of their hard flesh grinding together without any barriers.

Oliver sucks bruising marks into Barry's neck, presses open-mouthed kisses onto his chest, swirls a tongue around his nipple and soaks up the sweet sounds that Barry's making – all panting breath and beautiful moans – as he makes his way down. He gets to his hipbone, where he places an open-mouthed kiss, and Barry shudders with anticipation.

The thing is – he's never done _this_ before. He's been working himself up to it – trying to gather his nerve. It's not a homophobia thing – really, it's not – he knows he's not exactly straight. He might have a preference for women, but this attraction for guys has always been there – it was there for Tommy, it was there for Digg in the beginning, and god, it's _especially_ there for Barry – but Barry's the first guy that managed to coax him out of his cosy heterosexual bubble.

So, yeah, he's never sucked a dick before. But there's a first time for everything, right?

In all honesty, it's a bit shitty of him. Barry has done this for him _plenty_ of times, and Oliver finds himself wondering if that's because he's done it before, and _fuck_ , the curl of jealousy that stirs in his gut at the thought of that is the last thing that he needs right now.

Barry watches him, propped up on his elbow and fixing him with a bug-eyed gaze, pupils blown wide, and that's Oliver needs to work up the nerve to take the other man into his mouth.

He starts off slowly, licking a strip up the length in one smooth motion, and Barry gasps, gripping onto the sheets with white knuckles. Oliver lets a deep chuckle escape his throat, because the noises that Barry is making just from the one moment of contact are absolutely beautiful, and he really wants to hear more of them.

Smoothing one hand over the dip in Barry's stomach, he moves his other hand to grip the base of the younger's cock firmly, and Barry continues to watch him, lips parted, as he swallows him down slowly.

" _Fuck,_ " Barry groans, his stomach clenching below Oliver's hand.

It's nothing like he expected it to be. It doesn't taste so bad. Sure, he can taste the small beads of bitter, salty fluid on his tongue as he swirls it around Barry's head, and it's not entirely pleasant, but it's nothing that he can't handle in exchange for the sounds that he's dragging out of Barry.

As he bobs his head, interchanging between enveloping Barry's dick with the wet heat of his mouth and teasing strokes of his tongue, Barry mewls below him, and he feels a hand fist into the short strands of his hair. He glances up at Barry through his eyelashes, and the other man just looks absolutely _wrecked_ , panting furiously, head thrown back on the white pillow below him, and Oliver's chest swells with pride at the sight.

He loves this – loves making Barry come undone like this. The harsh pants increase to double-speed, and Oliver trails his palm over his stomach in a gentle soothing motion – surprising even himself with the tenderness.

"T-touch yourself," Barry gasps out, his voice strained, and yeah, he really doesn't need to be told twice. He moves the hand on Barry's stomach to his own neglected dick, wrapping his fingers around the base and he begins to stroke slowly, dragging a low groan out from his throat which makes Barry yelp in surprise at the sensation caused by the vibration.

"Ollie... _stop_ ," Barry whimpers, and Oliver raises his head, coming off the younger's dick with a _pop_.

"Fuck, did I do something wrong?" He asks, eyebrows crinkled in concern at Barry's distress.

"N-no." Barry chokes, stroking his hand through his hair gently, and a pleased hum escapes Oliver at the sensation. "So close. I just- I need you."

The admittance is quiet, and perhaps a little shaky, but Oliver hears Barry's plea all the same.

Oliver rearranges them so that Barry is back on top of him, straddling his lap once more, and he fixes him with a serious expression, his palms sliding over his hips in a gentle motion as he takes in the gorgeous sight of the younger man perched over him.

He'd really rather not talk, if he's honest. Talking means acknowledging that this is a regular thing that they _do_ – that what he and Barry have is far more than a friendship. They very rarely talk during these encounters, beyond a few directions and questions, but full-out discussions? No.

In this case, though, it can't really be avoided.

Oliver moves his hand to Barry's chin, tilting it so that the other's gaze was firmly on him. "If we're going to do this, I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay?"

Barry's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, before nodding in reply.

"If there's anything – _anything_ – that I do that you don't like, stop me. If something hurts, tell me. If you want to stop the entire thing, then you need to let me know. This will only work if you're open with me, Barr."

The nickname falls from his tongue before he can catch it, and judging by the mesmerised look on Barry's face, it hasn't entirely flown by him. He doesn't say anything, though, just nods again.

Oliver clears his throat, eyes firmly trained on Barry. "I think... we need a safeword?"

"Uhm." Barry considers it for a second, and his head tilts a little, which causes Oliver's heart to clench, because _fucking hell_ , it should be illegal to be that adorable. "How about we just go with the _red, amber, green_ system for now?"

 _For now_. The words settle in his chest and send a pleasant shiver down his spine at the suggestion of future need for the use of safewords. (And, _god_ , against his better judgement – he really wants there to be a future.)

With the words stuck at the back of his throat, he manages a stiff nod, and then the heat is suddenly increased tenfold when Barry leans and suckles on the flesh of Oliver's neck. A loud groan escapes Oliver as he moves his hand under the pillow, fingers closing over the rope.

He runs his fingertips over Barry's back, trailing the rope as he goes, and Barry shivers with a small gasp. Oliver moves his lips to the younger's ear, and whispers, "turn around for me, Barry."

When Barry shuffles around so that he's still straddling Oliver, back facing him, Oliver runs his palms down his arms slowly, before pulling Barry's hands behind his back. "I'm going to tie your wrists together, okay? If it's too tight, you need to tell me."

"Yes, sir."

Oliver groans, his forehead landing on Barry's back gently at the words. Without saying more, he begins wrapping the rope around Barry's wrists, making sure to keep some space in-between so that he can loop the remainder of it around the middle in order to make some simple rope cuffs. Once he's done, he takes a second to take in the gorgeous sight, running his palm up and down Barry's back with a shuddered sigh.

"Tug on them a little, let me know if they're too tight or too loose," he prompts.

Barry shuffles a little, obliging Oliver, then he shakes his head – which Oliver is pretty sure means that they're fine, but there's no chance in hell that he's taking the risk without any clarification. He's heard the horror stories of people's first forays into bondage (and okay – this isn't Oliver's first, but he's pretty sure it's Barry's – he selfishly _hopes_ it's Barry's, anyway) and the last thing he wants to do is harm him.

"I need you to clarify, Barr. Verbally."

"They're fine, sir." Barry replies, and Oliver's stomach swoops at the sultry tone that the other man's voice has taken.

He leans back so that he's propped up on the headboard, wrapping his free hand around his dick and beginning to stroke a little, before pulling the condom and lube from under the pillow. It doesn't take him long to roll it on and slick himself up, yet somehow it feels like a lifetime because he just needs to be inside Barry _right the fuck now_.

They're not going to last long – he _knows_ this. They've both been worked up to near completion as it is, and the gasps and groans that Barry sounds out as Oliver opens him up with his fingers are almost enough to make him come untouched. When Barry _finally_ sinks down on him, surrounding him with tightness and heat, Oliver hisses and sinks his fingers into Barry's hips as he guides him.

Once he's fully seated, Oliver leans forward to run his palms on the insides of Barry's thighs, nipping softly on his neck with wet, open-mouthed kisses, ripples travelling up his spine as Barry begins to move slowly, panting with shallow breaths, entire body flushed and slick with sweat above him.

The movement is limited – of course, Oliver knew it would be,what with Barry's hands tied behind his back. He moves his palms around to the back of Barry's thighs to help the younger balance as he works himself on Oliver's dick with breathy moans and stuttered gasps, and Oliver buries his head in the curve of his neck in order to muffle his own noises.

"Feels so good, baby," Oliver murmurs into his skin, and he's so high on the adrenaline and the feel of Barry's tight heat around him that he barely registers the slip. Barry says nothing, though, just continues to fuck himself on Oliver, tightening around him, and Oliver feels like he could just drown in Barry and die happy.

Eventually, Oliver grips onto Barry to still him, and Barry fixes him with a questioning look.

"Just- I want to-" Oliver breathes out, but he can barely form the thoughts never mind the words so he decides to just demonstrate instead. "Trust me?"

"Y-yes," Barry replies, with absolute certainty – and it's enough it make his heart clench in his chest, because he shouldn't – he really _shouldn't_ , but this man, for one reason or another, cares for Oliver and trusts him with more than this – with his _life_ – and all Oliver can do is pay him back with heartache, and it's not _right_. Barry deserves so much more than this. He deserves the world. He deserves to fall in love with someone who isn't broken – someone whole, who can take care of him in all the ways that Oliver can't.

"Ollie?"

The tentative use of the nickname breaks him away from his thoughts – brings him back to the present, and he leans over to brush his lips with Barry's tenderly, before he begins to move.

Barry gasps as Oliver moves his hips below him with long, deep strokes, and angles himself so that he's brushing with Barry's prostate – something that Oliver knows he's achieved when Barry lets out a surprised yelp, before his head rolls back on his shoulders, his eyes hooded with lust.

As the heat increases, they fall into a rhythm – Barry moving his hips, meeting Oliver's strokes flawlessly, and they're both so lost in the sensations. Time seems to slow down yet move faster all at once – both dizzy and intoxicated on one another's scent, ragged breaths pouring from their lips.

Oliver grips onto Barry's hips, pulling him down harder until they're both gasping desperately, enveloped in the fiery passion until they both dissolve into ecstasy, flooded by bursts of pleasure and white light pooling his vision. Oliver shudders, his hips stuttering, riding the shockwaves as he comes with a long, drawn out groan, Barry following, untouched, with a broken moan, spilling hot liquid onto Oliver's stomach.

Heart pounding frantically in his chest, he gazes up at Barry with wonder – the other man panting on top of him, limbs loosened from the orgasm, and he drags him down into his arms, reaching behind Barry to loosen the ropes so that they fall off when Barry tugs them apart.

This is usually the part where Oliver works himself up to leaving, but he can't this time. He just _can't_. Somewhere in the back of his mind are all the reasons why he should be getting the hell out of there, but right at the forefront, there's Barry, soft and warm beside him, averting his gaze like a broken puppy, and that just tugs on Oliver's heartstrings.

So, instead of moving from the bed and getting dressed, he shifts closer and snakes his arm around Barry's waist so that his hand rests over his hip, fingers trailing gentle circles into his skin, and presses a gentle kiss to his temple.

"Uhm..." Barry utters, and Oliver huffs.

"Shh, Barry. Go to sleep."

He watches Oliver uncertainly, but when it's clear that he's not planning on going anywhere, he lets out a contented sigh, folding himself into Oliver, tangling their limbs together.

For the first time since before the island, Oliver feels safe and warm.

They both know that the bliss is temporary – that in the morning, Barry will wake up to an empty bed, Oliver's side gone cold from having left long before, but they allow themselves to bask in the illusion of normalcy for just one night.

Somehow, it hurts more for Oliver to leave when he wakes up at an unspeakable hour the next morning – but he untangles himself from the younger man against his own will, pulls his scattered clothes on and leans over to press another kiss onto Barry's forehead, before making a hasty exit.

He wonders how long they can continue to make love while pretending that they're not _in_ love. Sooner or later, something's going to give, and quite frankly, he's losing sight as to why that might be a bad thing.


	5. One Last Time (Day 5 - Nipple Play)

**Part 5 of the 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge: Nipple Play**

 **Title: One Last Time (Warning: Pre Mid-Season 3 Finale. Temporary Character Death.)**

* * *

Oliver is avoiding him, but Barry doesn't care.

That's what he tells himself when he doesn't hear from Oliver in over three weeks.

That's what he tells himself as he glances at his phone to see that several of his text messages have gone unanswered.

That's what he tells himself as he calls Oliver's cell phone, only to be cut off after two rings.

That's what he tells himself as he slinks around the lab, ignoring Caitlin and Cisco's worried glances and the dark cloud above his head that's threatening to strike him down.

But when his doorbell rings at 3am in the morning, and his door opens with a loud _creak_ to reveal Oliver standing on the other side, looking distressed as fuck, all forms of the lie immediately fly from Barry's mind to reveal one cold, harsh truth; Barry cares too much.

He doesn't ask what's bothering him – he knows that Oliver wouldn't open up to him anyway – what's the point? Not that he'd get the chance, anyway, because the moment he opens his mouth – either to scold him for showing up at his door so damn late, or to ask where the hell he's been, he's not entirely sure - Oliver's lips are attacking his own desperately, trembling hands skimming over his cheeks.

Any protest that he might have had melts away instantly, and he allows himself to be dragged flush against the older's body, savouring the feeling of the other's hard chest below his palms.

"Barry," Oliver murmurs against his lips with something that sounds akin to reverence, "Need you. I need you."

 _Shit_.

Something's not right. Something's not right _at all_. Oliver's hands won't stop shaking as he allows Barry to lace his fingers into Oliver's, tugging him gently towards the bedroom. His expression is more closed-off than usual – which, for Oliver, that's certainly saying something.

As soon as they slide onto the mattress, Oliver's tugging on his shirt, eyes pleading, and, well – Barry really can't bring himself to deny him, no matter how pissed he is.

He should. He really _should_. He knows that this thing with Oliver has gone too far – that he should be running far away in the opposite direction in an attempt to mend his already broken heart – but he can't help it. Oliver draws him in like a moth to the flame, and he's already burning up.

Before he knows it, they've torn off each other's clothes, now scattered haphazardly over the bedroom floor, and Barry lets out a stuttered gasp as Oliver grinds into him, nails digging into the older man's back ever so slightly. He's not sure entirely where Oliver's going with this, in all honesty – all he knows is that the other looks more broken than usual, even as he's panting above him, revelling in the friction of their erections grinding together.

He wants to ask – he really, really does. As much as he wants to deny it, he loves Oliver with all of his heart - and he's not entirely sure when _that_ happened. It was somewhere between pining for Iris and drunken one night stands with the older man, but _fuck_ , he's all Oliver's now.

If only Oliver wanted him.

The pads of Oliver's thumbs brush over Barry's nipples, and a breathy gasp falls from his lips.

"Shit," Oliver breathes against the flesh of his neck, "You're sensitive."

"Only when I'm-" Barry cuts himself off with a moan as Oliver sucks down on skin, circling his nipples slowly. "T-turned on," he manages through his tightened throat.

This is where Oliver would usually make some sort of smug joke, or at least offer him one of the light-hearted smiles that he only seems to allow to shine through in these particular moments, but his face is still hardened, and his forehead still creased with worry for whatever is coming. And god, he can't ignore it any longer – he just can't. Something is wrong, and he needs to find out what.

"Oliver," Barry whispers, and the other man pulls off his neck to look him in the eye. "What's going on?"

Oliver hesitates for a few seconds, and Barry can tell that he's pondering what to say. In the end, he goes with nothing, instead choosing to scoot down to draw a circle around Barry's nipple with his tongue, and Barry's protests get lost in his throat as he feels Oliver take the small nub between his teeth, running over it carefully, before the older man looks up at him, eyes questioning, and Barry's breath catches in his throat, because somehow, he already knows what the question is, and he nods his acquiescence.

It doesn't take Oliver long to fetch the lube from its usual place in the night stand, and before he knows it, Barry is pressed into the mattress face-first, Oliver pulling his hips up, circling his hole with one finger, before pressing it in, and the sheets wrinkle under Barry's grasp. As he's opened up with care, Barry presses his face into the mattress to muffle his moans, but it doesn't stop the desperate sob that escapes him whenever Oliver brushes over his prostate.

"I'm ready," Barry whimpers against the sheets, and Oliver doesn't reply like he usually does – he just withdraws his fingers, wiping them on the covers. He waits as Oliver prepares himself – tearing the foil wrapper of the condom with his teeth before rolling it over himself and slicking it up with lube.

Oliver's hot, warm breath tickles the back of his neck when he lines himself up, proceeding to to sink in slowly, and Barry hisses at the stretch, because it's been a while, but it's not necessarily _bad_. Still, once Oliver is fully sheathed, he grips onto Barry's hips, and waits for Barry's signal.

"M-move," Barry whimpers, and Oliver obliges almost immediately, hips snapping forward, and Barry bites his bottom lip, trying to hold back his moans.

It's somehow less personal and more rushed than he's used to. It's like going back to when they first started – when there were no feelings involved on either side. He wishes he could see Oliver's face, and he wonders if the older man had deliberately chosen this position so that he couldn't.

Oliver fucks into him with breathy pants and broken moans, and as Barry feels the pressure building, he moves his hand to wrap around his own cock. His hand is dry, and he's so wrapped up in the feeling of Oliver colliding with his prostate, that his movements are jerky, but it's enough.

The familiar warmth pools in his stomach, and as he spills onto his own hand with a broken moan, he feels Oliver tighten his grip against his hips, before a loud groan sounds out from behind him as Oliver follows him over the edge.

He doesn't ask Oliver to stay again. He knows better than that. Plus, the last time he did, his heart had shattered when he woke up alone, Oliver's side of the bed gone cold from the other man slipping out during the night. So he just wraps himself in the sheets, and lets Oliver leave without protest.


End file.
